Picture: Inferno — Canto XXVI : Dante and Virgil Contemplating the Inferno
Oil on Canvas | 41” x 54” | 2003 | Private Collection

The Eighth Circle of Hell was dotted with millions of fireflies. From where I stood on that rocky
ledge, I could see them all shining brightly down below us in the blackness.
―Dante, Inferno, Canto 26:31-33

I’ve kept a postcard on my desk. It’s a reproduction of an oil painting by Sandow Birk, who adapted Dante’s three-part epic of spiritual pilgrimage, moving it from 14th century Italy to present-day Los Angeles, San Francisco, Manhattan, and beyond.

In this picture an American flag-draped/toga-clad Virgil, the guide, is holding on to surfer-dude Dante, the pilgrim. Together they peer into a crevice, out of which is shining light that draws their attention into the depths of the Inferno. The rocky outcrop where Virgil and Dante stand is the steep hillside on which steel girders prop up the nine massive letters of the HOLLYWOOD sign.

Dante’s original description of a field of fireflies has become the myriad lights of Los Angeles, sparkling across the city’s basin, as seen from above. There’s some confusion, and humor, about Birk’s point of view that I particularly enjoy: either Hell is in Los Angeles, or Los Angeles is in Hell.

I keep the image propped up against the wall next to the table lamp on my desk. I can see
it out of the corner of my eye as I work on my laptop or conduct astrology readings. It has been
there for the past three years, subtly conjuring, subtly haunting me.

In my most silent, private moments, the postcard reminds me of a very personal, very emotional, and completely transformative event in my life. I’m struggling now to convey it, a promise I made years ago and am only now fulfilling.

It is January 31, 1984, and I am up and out of the house an hour before dawn.

The air is cool and still, the sky perfectly clear. I meet up with William Royers, my astrologer, my
mentor, and we walk to a place close to the HOLLYWOOD sign, a place where we have a long,
clear view across the city to the east. I know what we will see. This morning promises a rare
opportunity to view all five naked-eye planets in the same part of the sky at the same time.

William had called me a few days earlier. We hadn’t talked in about seven months.
Both of us had been busy. He said he had something he wanted me to see. As we sit on the
hillside overlooking Los Angeles I wonder why William has chosen this place to meet, and not a
more remote site, where with less light pollution the viewing of the planets would be better.

High in the south we see Mars and Saturn bracketed between the stars Antares and Spica.

Mars mimics Antares’ ruddy glow, and Saturn copies Spica’s white brilliance. Above the mountains at the far side of the LA basin, Venus and Jupiter are in conjunction. Venus and Jupiter are the two brightest star-like objects in the sky, and to see them so close together is truly awe-inspiring. I know from my ephemeris that Neptune and Uranus are also in the sky near the place of conjunction of the two bright planets, but only a telescope would reveal them. Pluto, too, is somewhere nearby. Between Mars and Saturn, on the one hand, and Venus and Jupiter, on the other, the crescent Moon slips slowly closer and closer to the rising Sun.

I focus and study the sky near the place on the horizon where the sun will rise. The sky brightens and layers of violet, blue, and pink light peel away like onion skins from the still-hidden Sun. Then, at last, little Mercury, a pinprick of light, a mote of dust in the gathering sky, makes its appearance.

Five planets: Mercury, Venus, Jupiter, Mars and Saturn.

Five planets and the crescent Moon strung like beads on the string of the ecliptic.

I am reminded how medieval astronomers believed that the universe was a nest of
crystalline spheres, concentric with the Earth, like one of those Russian egg-shaped matryoshka
dolls decreasing in size to the center. This morning it is easy to imagine the shells of that
glittering cosmic egg receding from the Earth, layer upon layer.

“ Do you see it?” William asks.
“ Sure”
“ No, you’re getting lost in the sky.”
“ Oh, you want me to see the city lights as mirroring the stars and the planets?”
“ That’s part of it. See the Totality. See the Awakening! See the Renaissance.”
“ Renaissance?”
“ Yes, Renaissance 2! The Universal rhythm and human endeavor both together …
simultaneously.”

And in that moment William’s vision clicks.

He wants me to see two worlds simultaneously, two universes, one above, one below, each with their own separate characteristics, yet both intertwined, constantly moving together, interdependent. I imagine two muscle-bound athletes running side-by-side in competition, light and dark, sky and earth, nature and culture, each pushing the other, both striving to realize their own individual destinies, and then collapsing together as one at the finish line, fulfilled.

Many of the things we had talked about over the last few years began to fall into place. In addition to William teaching me astrology by asking me to read Dante’ s Divine Comedy, he had also explored with me the nature of the Soul, the various ways in which the Soul is recovered, how when it comes into our awareness it becomes the center of our life, guiding, loving, creating as opposed to letting our personal ego always run the show.

We also had spent a great deal of time talking about how people’s lives were changing dramatically. William spoke of this time ― the time we’re now living in ― as a Renaissance. He called it Renaissance 2. Our present period, 1941-2035,  is similar astrologically, culturally, and spiritually to that glorious time in human evolution, known in the West as the Italian Renaissance, 1450-1540.

“ Good! You see it”
“ Yeah. … ”

We parted that morning without saying much more.

In a dream six months later I see myself standing on a steep hillside ledge, (very similar
to the scene in the postcard of Birk’s painting) looking out at all the lights of LA. Suddenly, off
in the distance, there is a giant atomic explosion. Forceful waves of wind and fire engulf me.
For some reason I am not afraid, nor am I burned.

The ringing telephone awakened me. It was Helen, William’s wife, telling me that
William had just died. She asked if I could come to the house that afternoon. She was having a
viewing.

After everyone had come and gone, Helen pulled me aside.

“ I have something William wanted me to give you.”
She placed in my hands a large folder of papers.
“ These are William’s writings and prophecies concerning Renaissance 2 and how he envisioned
the future course of human evolution. He wants you to make them your own, expound upon
them, expand them, share them with others … Do you promise?”

I was deeply moved, I could barely get the word out,

“ Promise …”

As I look at the postcard now it calls to mind that beautiful moment standing next to
William looking down at the lights and up at the sky over LA.

It calls to mind the wisdom of Astrology: An awareness of the cycles of nature, the
cycles that are within us, and the cycles that are within the culture and the Human Spirit.

It calls to mind that, yes, there is a time and a place that is the Inferno, and the Purgatory.
We live in a world of death and destruction, where it’s easy to lose touch with our Soul. But we
also have the great fortune to live in an extraordinary time, a time of great quickening when the
powers to be, both personally and collectively, are focused on the recovery of the Soul. This is a
remarkable time of regeneration, of re-birth, of resurrection.

I do believe it is a time of Renaissance.

It’s time for me to keep my promise, to begin writing.

Starwatcher: R2 Almanac: 1/1